Snowed-in With The Mountain Man (Mountain Man Christmas Romance #1)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

RIDGE

The buck pauses at the edge of the clearing, nostrils flaring. My clients freeze behind me, breath held as I slowly raise my hand in the signal to wait. The animal is majestic, twelve points at least, exactly what Marcus Sullivan flew all the way from Texas to hunt.

I remain motionless as the deer turns its head our direction, a perfect broadside shot presenting itself. Sullivan raises his rifle with trembling hands, the excitement getting to him. I can feel his nervousness radiating off him in waves.

"Easy," I whisper, barely a breath of sound. "Take your time. Breathe out and squeeze."

The shot cracks through the winter air, echoing across the mountain. The buck bolts, disappearing into the thick pine forest without stumbling.

"Fuck!" Sullivan curses, lowering his rifle. "I missed. I fucking missed!"

I keep my face neutral. "These things happen. Even to experienced hunters."

"I had him." Sullivan's face flushes red with frustration. "A perfect shot and I blew it."

His son Tyler, a teenager on his first real hunting expedition, looks disappointed but doesn't say anything. Smart kid.

"We can track his path," I offer, though I know the shot went wide. "Sometimes they run a distance before dropping."

My phone vibrates in my pocket. I ignore it. Out here, no calls are urgent enough to interrupt a client's hunt.

It buzzes again. And again. And again.

Whoever's calling isn't giving up.

"Excuse me a second," I tell Sullivan, stepping away to check. When I pull out my phone, my heart stops.

Stella.

No one else's name on my screen has ever had that effect.

Even after eight years of her being gone, of me watching her life unfold through sporadic texts and phone calls, rare visits home where she was always too busy with her "real life" to spend time with me.

Even after she met someone, got pregnant, got married.

Even then, seeing her name still feels like a fist around my heart.

I answer immediately. "Stella?"

A sob comes through the line, the sound shooting straight through me like a bullet.

"Ridge." Her voice is shaking, thick with tears. "I need help."

The entire world narrows to those three words. I need help.

"What's wrong?" I move farther from my clients, voice dropping low.

"I'm coming home." Another sob breaks through. "Me and Chellie. We need somewhere to stay. Just for a little while. Until I figure things out."

Chellie. Her daughter. The two-year-old I've only seen in photos, her existence a constant reminder that Stella found her happiness elsewhere.

"Of course," I respond without hesitation. "My place is yours. When?"

"Today," she says, and I realize I can hear road noise in the background. "We're already driving. Maybe four more hours. I'm so sorry to spring this on you, but I didn't know where else to go."

Today. Four hours. My brain races to calculate. "I'm on a guided hunt. Should be done by sunset. I'll meet you at the cabin."

She exhales shakily. "Thank you. I didn't know if..."

If I'd still be there for her. If I'd still drop everything when she called.

"Always," I say simply, because there isn't another answer. Not for her.

After we hang up, I stare at my phone for a long moment, trying to process what just happened. Stella's coming home. With her daughter. Without her husband, apparently.

Something's very wrong.

I rejoin the Sullivans, my mind already miles away from deer and rifles and disappointed clients.

"Everything okay?" Tyler asks, more perceptive than his father.

"Family emergency," I say, not bothering to elaborate. "We need to head back."

Sullivan's face darkens. "We paid for a full day. Still have hours of daylight left."

I nod, keeping my expression professional. "You'll receive a partial refund. I can recommend another guide if you want to come back tomorrow."

"This is unacceptable," Sullivan starts, but I cut him off with a look that silences him immediately.

"Family emergency," I repeat, slower this time. "Non-negotiable."

We hike back to the truck in tense silence. I drive them to their resort faster than is strictly safe, offer a terse apology, and leave them at the entrance without waiting for a response.

Let them leave a bad review. Let them complain to the tourism board. None of it matters.

Stella needs me.

I race home, taking mountain curves too fast, mind spinning with questions. Why now? What happened? Where's her husband?

The cabin comes into view as I crest the final hill. My sanctuary. Three bedrooms, a massive great room with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the valley, a kitchen I rarely use. Too much space for one man, but I built it with vague dreams of someday filling it with the sound of a family.

With her.

I park and hurry inside, suddenly seeing the space through her eyes. Hunting trophies on the walls. Utilitarian furniture. Dishes in the sink from breakfast.

I spend the next two hours in a cleaning frenzy, making the guest bedroom ready, putting fresh sheets on the bed, running the vacuum.

I clear out space in the closet, empty a drawer in the bathroom vanity.

I even find an old stuffed bear in the attic that used to belong to Jax as a kid, dusting it off for Chellie.

When the cabin is as presentable as it's going to get, I shower, changing into clean jeans and a flannel shirt. I'm toweling my hair dry when headlights sweep across the front windows.

My heart pounds against my ribs so hard it hurts.

I open the door before she can knock, and the sight of her sucker punches me right in the gut.

Stella stands on my porch in the fading winter light, dark circles under her eyes, her normally vibrant face pale and drawn. Her hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, and she's wearing an oversized sweater that makes her look smaller than I remember.

But it's still her. Still the only woman I've ever loved.

"Hi," she says, voice small and uncertain.

"Hi yourself." I step back, opening the door wider. "Come in before you freeze."

She hesitates. "Chellie's asleep in the car. I didn't want to wake her until..."

Until she knew for sure I meant what I said. Until she confirmed it wasn't an imposition.

"I'll get her," I offer, already moving past her toward the car.

I open the back door quietly, and there she is. A tiny dark-haired girl strapped into a car seat, head lolled to the side in sleep. Chellie. The physical manifestation of everything I lost, everything I never had a chance to build with Stella.

My chest constricts as I carefully unbuckle her, lifting her into my arms with a gentleness I usually reserve for wounded animals. She stirs slightly, mumbling something unintelligible before settling against my chest, trusting and warm.

"Big," she murmurs, eyes fluttering open for just a moment before closing again.

A tectonic movement of emotion happens in my chest that I'm not prepared for. This child doesn't know me from Adam, but she settles against me like she belongs there.

I carry her inside, where Stella has already brought in a small suitcase and her purse. She watches us with an unreadable expression.

"Guest room's ready," I say quietly. "Second door on the left."

She nods, leading the way. The room is simple—queen bed, nightstand, dresser—but I turned down the covers earlier, and the reading lamp casts a warm glow over the space.

I lay Chellie on the bed as if she's made of glass. Stella immediately starts removing the girl's shoes and jacket, her movements practiced and efficient.

"I put some towels in the bathroom for you," I say, backing toward the door. "And there's food in the fridge. Not much, but enough for tonight."

Stella looks up at me, her brown eyes swimming with tears again. "Ridge, I don't know how to thank you."

"You don't have to." I shove my hands in my pockets to keep from reaching for her. "Get some rest. We can talk in the morning."

She nods, clearly exhausted. "Tomorrow," she agrees.

I close the door quietly behind me, then stand in the hallway for a long moment, trying to process what just happened.

Stella Brooks is sleeping in my guest bedroom. With her daughter. The woman I've been in love with since we were seventeen years old is under my roof, looking broken in ways I don't understand yet.

Tomorrow. We'll talk tomorrow. I'll find out what happened, who hurt her, what she needs.

And then I'll move heaven and earth to give it to her.

Because that's what I've always done. That's who I've always been.

The man waiting in the wings. The one who picks up the pieces of her life and hands them back to her before she walks away again.

Only this time, as I head to my own bedroom, I can't shake the feeling that everything is about to change.